Saturday, June 27, 2015

Walk Like You Mean It






Day 10 - Wednesday - part 3

One of the great things about writing this blog is the opportunity to describe, in great detail, various assinine things that I do to completely embarrass myself, so that you, the reader, can be morbidly entertained.

For example, here's a stupid move. Back on Fremont, on first Friday, I found myself waiting for the light to change before crossing city center. All manner of people, including the young, old, and the infirm, were swarming across the intersection like ants searching for food crumbs.

Not me. I know how dangerous it can be to J-walk in Vegas. I stood there and just as the light turned, I realized that Fremont was completely blocked off to all traffic, by the large, obvious line of gigantic steel barriers 5 feet to my left.

Crosswalks are fair game for the constant battery of unfortunate experiences that continue to relentlessly chip away at my sense of self worth and the very idea that, in life, I will ever amount to anything. But where I really excel at contemptible fatuous self-buffoonery is in elevators.

Being pretty much all played out, and nursing a tenuous win for the day, I again though that Tender Steakhouse would be a great choice for dinner, but again, I'd have to wait an hour. Screw it.

Regrouping, I headed back to base camp (aka my room) to chill a bit and figure out where to eat. I also had those bottles of wine from Hole foods to demolish, and drinking wine seemed like a great pastime.

After a number (n) of glasses where (n) is more than 4 and less than the entire bottle of wine, I headed back out. I was getting hungry and some Mexican food seemed like just the ticket.

Holding my traveller, I pushed for the elevator and piled in when it arrived. It was nearly full so I stood right in front of the doors.

The elevator stopped, and since I understand the conflux of where elevator etiquette meets practicality, I knew that as the person right in front of the door that I should egress first, so as to avoid blocking the doorway. Just as soon as that door parted enough for me to squeeze through, I flew out of there like I was on a mission.

Since I know my way around like nobody's business, I instantly turned left and took two quick, brisk steps toward... the rooms of the sixth floor. A little glance back confirmed that everyone else was still on the elevator, waiting for the doors to close and for it to continue on its way.

Fuck.

I walked like I meant it and made a very confident turn to the right, and to the right again into a hallway of rooms. After a few steps, I stopped. I looked at a few of the fake Egyptian artifacts bolted to the walls.

Sipped my wine.

Waited for my face to return to its normal shade of non-crimson.

Fuck.

Back to the elevators, where I pushed for a hopefully empty one, and managed to ride down to the casino level successfully, with no further interruptions in my travels.

So, dinner destination was T&A - Tacos and Tequila, up on the attractions level of the pyramid.



I got seated right away and really appreciated the cut-off jean shorts and boots that some of the staff were wearing. It made dinner just that much more nicer.


The standard bowl of tortilla chips arrived with two kinds of salsa. The chips were warm, hearty and crunchy, and the salsas were excellent, full of flavor and character.


I went for the Chicken Sabana, which is where you take some chicken and pound the hell out of it (or maybe chicken walk all over it with boots that are made for walkin'), put a bunch of sauces and grilled things on it, and serve it up with some sauce and garnish. It came with some Mexican rice.

And it was excellent. Really, really tasty, and my booted server told me that that is her favorite ever and that it is delish. I think we are going to become friends. You've heard of those May -September romances? This is going to probably be more like a one week into February - December friendship, based on mutual respect, and her jean cut-offs.
Chicken Sabana.
She has a poor memory though, because when the guy behind me ordered the Chile Relleno, she erroneously stated that that was her favorite dish ever and that it was delish. Silly woman, how could she forget that we have the same favorite dish in common?


I had to admit, she was just doing her job and she hadn't put those boots on just for me. This romance friendship ended as soon as I over-tipped, stuffed a toothpick into my mouth and walked away.

I kind of wandered around, looking at old Luxor things, and walked out the exit where the walkway to Dickscalibur is. But instead of going there, I deked left and went down to the north lobby to check it out. (That reminded me of something, though, something I needed to check out at Dickscalibur.)

It used to be a great thing to know about, that north entrance. There was valet there which was way easier to get at than the main one, and you could check in there and skip the lineups. No more - its almost always closed up and empty and valet is gone. They do have the most inconvenient in the entire world of so-called VIP treatment MILF VIP lounge down there though. Why the lounge is there, I have no idea, there isn't any place you can go in Luxor that is further from the casino, except maybe the pool.

At the end of the lobby, there is access to the elevators, the north lobby being one floor lower than the casino level. I pushed for an elevator and when it arrived, the one on the end. I skirted along the wall toward it just as two people came out. They went left and I moved right, snug up to the wall and then I kind of pirouetted into the elevator itself.

That's when I noticed that the 'Casino' button had been pushed. So I'd have to stop before going on to my floor.

"FUCKWITS!" I snapped, out loud, the pair of them long gone down the lobby. "FUCK... idiots...."

I stood and waited for the doors to close and as they did, I noticed something in my peripheral vision.

There was a woman standing in the other corner of the elevator. It was she who had requested the 'Casino' stop.

I had about 6 seconds to apologize and I used every one of them. Then she was gone, and I was alone, basking in the red glow of my face.

I sincerely hope you enjoyed my tales of self-denigration. Be well.

Sigh.

Day: +$100
Trip: -$2840

It should be noted that since the 24 hours of burning hell at the start of my trip, I had put together eight full days with a total loss across that time of a mere $640, less than $100 a day. And I'd had way more than $100 a day of fun across those eight days. So, yeah, not great but not that bad.






1 comment:

  1. Those stops on an elevator where no one is waiting to get on always through me off. The worst for me was getting off and realizing I was on the wrong floor. I turned around to get back on only to see the remaining passengers smiling with joy at my error as the doors shut. Insult to injury was hearing the laughter fade away as the elevator moved on to the casino level.
    Thank you for taking the time to go into such great detail on your Vegas adventures. Your wonderful sense of humor just makes it that much better. Really helps with the withdrawal between our trips.
    Molymilker

    ReplyDelete

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